They were both very small, the fortune-teller’s hand and the maiden’s.
Renaud looked on from above with all his eyes, greatly surprised and a little disturbed in mind.
The gipsy held Livette’s hand in her own a moment, exulting to feel the palpitations of the bird she was fascinating. She had hoped to intimidate Livette, and the courage the girl displayed annoyed her.
“Your future husband isn’t far away, my beauty,” said she, “but he is not here on your account, never fear! On whose, then? That is for you to guess!”
Livette, already somewhat pale, became as white as a ghost.
“That alone, I fancy, is of interest to you, my pretty sweetheart! Then I’ll say no more to you except this: Beware; the serpent on my left wrist just whispered something to me. Look well to your love!”
A shudder ran through the spectators like a ripple over the surface of a swamp. One of the snakes was, in fact, hissing gently.
The gipsy released Livette’s hand; as the girl turned to go away, she came face to face with Rampal. He had been wandering about the village since early morning, and had just joined the group, unseen by any one, even by Renaud.
Livette recoiled instinctively and in such a marked way that Rampal might well have taken it for an affront. Unfortunately, having left the front row, she was hemmed in by the crowd on all sides of her.
“Oho! young lady,” said Rampal, “so we don’t recognize our friends!”